


Breath of Life

by ryttu3k



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Healing, Immortality, Immortals, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Personification, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in the rubble of his ruined laboratory with Augustine Sycamore, Lysandre has difficult questions to ask and harder choices to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't quite the end of the world, but it would do.

Gazing up at the weapon powering up above his head with what little energy he had managed to steal, knowing that what came next was likely to be the base coming crashing down upon his head, Lysandre could not bring himself to feel anything other than resigned. The all-consuming rage and despair that had overwhelmed him as the children had stolen Yveltal back was fading and subsiding, leaving chilly realisation in its wake - the knowledge that he was about to die.

And that was alright. This would be his penance, his repayment for what he tried to do. This was the only reward he could expect for trying to create a perfect world.

This was... right.

Behind him, the door opened again. Lysandre did not turn away from where he stood, facing the machine as it crackled and hummed and spat out energy furiously, preparing for its final performance.

"You should leave," he said quietly, unwilling to look at - presumably - one of the members of Team Flare that he would lead into death if they did not make their escape fast enough. "If you stay here, you will die."

"Only if you come with me," came a soft call in return, and the icy chill of dread crept down Lysandre's spine, as relentlessly as the touch of a knife.

And now he could not turn around if he tried, could not face what was before him. There were quiet footsteps drawing nearer, a hand reaching out, fingertips brushing his hand, and he still could not turn to face him, because Augustine Sycamore was the one person in the world he had never wanted to hurt.

"I can't." Lysandre's voice cracked. "Please, just leave."

Augustine stepped into his field of view now, his hair dishevelled, his face flushed and his eyes wide - had he run here, then? Had he dropped everything to step into certain death? Lysandre looked away stubbornly, refusing to look into his eyes, refusing to look at Augustine's hands around his own. "Not this time," he said, and Lysandre almost trembled at the devotion in the words. "If you stay here, then I'll stay with you."

"You'll _die_ if you stay here."

" _You'll_ die here if -"

Whatever Augustine was going to say was cut off by the loudest noise that Lysandre had ever heard - the weapon, now at its full power, discharging every particle of energy it had gathered. Augustine cringed, releasing Lysandre's hands to clamp his own over his ears, gazing up at the glow they could distinguish through the crystalline structure of the weapon even at its base.

And then he shook his head, wild black curls bouncing around his face. "Will you come with me?" he shouted over the roar.

Lysandre shook his head in response, closed his eyes as the glow from the weapon discharge reached the most faded it would ever reach and started growing again, the killing blow coming ever nearer and nearer.

"Then - I'm sorry," Augustine whispered. And he kissed him, a desperate, searing press of his lips against Lysandre's, fingers resting lightly against his hips with a gentleness that belied the fierceness of that kiss, and Lysandre forced back a choked sound as he wrapped his arms around Augustine's body and kissed him back.

He had just enough time to wish that Augustine had done this years ago before the world came crashing down.

 

Lysandre's first conscious thought as he stirred in the aftermath of the collapse was that he should not have been having conscious thoughts.

If the weapon discharge striking the base hadn't killed him, then the base collapsing on top of them surely should have, and with that thought came sudden icy dread dropping into the pit of his stomach. "Augustine?" he whispered, noting absently that his throat felt as dry as dust. "Augustine, are you...?"

Alright? Alive? He did not know what he was asking, if it was a fool's hope, if struggling to remove his pinned-down arm to reach out and touch him was futile or not.

"I'm here," came the answering whisper, and in the total darkness he had not realised that Augustine was only inches away from him. "Can you move?"

He tried experimentally. One leg was pinned down, crushed, if the sudden agony was any indication. Another arm was trapped, but not injured. Carefully, he managed to manoeuvre his other hand into the space between them, feeling rock and dust and then the smooth fabric of Augustine's shirt, could raise it a little higher and feel soft skin, tangled hair.

"One arm is trapped," he whispered, "And one leg. There's a weight on my upper body, including against the back of my head. What about you?"

There was a shifting sound, the rasp of fabric against stone, the sound of dust drifting down. "It's mostly my legs," Augustine confirmed, and then Lysandre was being touched - Augustine had managed to wriggle closer, to wrap an arm loosely around Lysandre's waist. "I think we'll be down here for a while."

"Augustine."

"Mm?"

"Why are we not dead?"

Augustine sighed, and he felt the breath of air brush over his cheek. "That's the greatest mystery of all, isn't it, mon ami?" he said, and even in the utter darkness, Lysandre could tell that he was smiling sadly. "By all rights, you should be, both from drawing the weapon down on yourself and from the roof collapsing." The arm around his waist tightened for half a moment. "Was that... what you were trying to do?" he continued, and his voice was softer, sadder.

Lysandre closed his eyes, for all the good it did. "It was the only suitable punishment I could think of." And a relief, a balm to know he would not see the world fall into ruin, to know that he would be spared that pain. To survive it, to know that he was still alive...

It was a relief and it hurt.

And, he was starting to realise, it was not the only hurt being experienced - in the silence, he could hear that Augustine's pained breathing, could smell the acrid stink of blood and burnt skin. "You're hurt," he said suddenly, and Augustine laughed softly.

"I know. I can handle it." But his voice sounded strained, like he was fighting off the worst of it, and Lysandre groped blindly for his hands.

"You're down here because of me," he said shakily, "You should have left when you had the chance. Augustine, you should have forgotten me and run far away. You should have been safe, you - " Trembling, he drew their joined hands up to his lips, pressed a kiss against Augustine's fingers desperately. "We still might die down here. From our injuries, from dehydration... can't you see you've condemned yourself to death?"

There was the faintest breath of air against his face. "It's just pain," he said quietly. "And yes, it hurts - that weapon - I think that this time it was worse because of Yveltal's involvement. Lysandre, I'll be fine. I can't die, and the pain is something that will pass in time too."

It took Lysandre half a moment for this to sink in, and then he tightened his grip on Augustine's hand crushingly. "You were there," he said in a stunned whisper. "When the weapon first went off, weren't you? It turned you immortal, along with AZ. That's why you barely look like you haven't aged since I met you all those years ago. That's why you can't die. That's why you were afraid for my safety, not your own. You will never die, will you?"

Another like AZ, another like his many-times great uncle. But here, too, were mysteries - AZ was clearly and physically marked by his experience, why wasn't Augustine? And he was sure that he did, indeed, look younger when they had first met, as if Lysandre's very presence had aged him.

"Not quite," Augustine whispered, and Lysandre turned to him with difficulty, loosening his grip on his hands, suddenly feeling utterly lost as to the age of those hands. "I was there, but it was not the weapon. And one day, this life will end and I'll sleep, and then I'll awaken in a new world. But that time is a long time away, and - human lives are fragile." There was a sigh like a feather-light kiss against his cheek. "And your life is something worth fighting for."

And Lysandre could not breathe, could not understand the words spilling from those beloved lips, could not understand what the hands he held belonged to. Everything had gone wrong, everything from start to finish, and now he was trapped and possibly dying under tons of rock and his closest friend, the man he had loved since he had first laid eyes upon him, the man who had willingly faced pain and potential death for him, was something he could not comprehend.

"What are you?" he whispered once.

"Haven't you worked it out yet?"

And he had sounded sad about it, so terribly grieved, as if the unspoken secret had cast a distance between them, as if it was something that would change everything. _Human lives are fragile_ , he had said - did that mean that he was not human?

He had been there long ago, three thousand years ago, when the weapon had fired - and yet this longevity or immortality or whatever it was had not been induced by that power. His life would end, and he would sleep, only to wake up once more when the world had changed. He was, most likely, not human. He had cared enough to fight for him, to want to save his life, to see his life as precious.

Life.

And he wanted to weep from the realisation, from the knowledge that someone like him would care enough about someone like Lysandre, found himself torn between pushing him away and from taking him in his arms and kissing him until they were both breathless, trembling at the realisation of what that could mean, at the magnitude of the identity of the man before him. And then he felt Augustine's gentle fingers against his cheek, wiping away dampness, and realised he truly was weeping.

"Lysandre," he said softly, his voice as soft and as reverent as a prayer, and the sheer wrongness of being on the receiving end of that prayer instead of being the worshipper made Lysandre's breath catch in his throat, made the world tip and spin beneath him and the thundering pain build up ever stronger in his chest.

"Xerneas," he whispered back, and closed his eyes to the darkness.

 

When he next awakened, it was to the sensation of a gentle hand on his face, fingers caressing his cheek, running the tips through his hair. For a moment, he did not open his eyes; then, with the realisation that it wouldn't matter in the darkness anyway, did so anyway.

"Did I lose consciousness?" he asked the darkness softly, and received a soft affirmative sound in reply.

"You're badly injured," came Augustine's (he still could not think of him as anyone other than Augustine, even with the knowledge of his actual identity) shaken reply. "You're losing blood - you're going into shock. You still could die."

He closed his eyes again - it was simply less effort. "Why am I not dead already?" he asked plainly. "It's not 'the greatest mystery of all', is it? You had something to do with this."

Feeling more than seeing the resulting nod, Augustine let his breath out in a sigh. "Normally, Yveltal and I have an... arrangement," he started hesitantly, "That we don't interfere with each other. If it had been Yveltal's Oblivion Wing, then I would have been forced to let you die. But it wasn't, it was only remnant energy, and - yes, I ensured that you survived the weapon and the cave-in." A weight settled against his chest; Augustine had rested his hand there, his fingertips over Lysandre's heart. "But I can't protect you forever," he said, and it sounded very much like begging.

Lysandre nodded once, already resigned to his death but something within him crying out in protest, calling out that there was another way. "And what happens now? Do you watch me die?" he asked solemnly, then let out a short laugh, quiet and bitter. "What short lives we must have in your eyes."

Augustine remained silent for a spell. "It's... complicated," he admitted. "Our lives are long, but mine is punctuated by a millennium of sleep. And each life brings things anew - I know that if I lost you in this life, I would mourn you until it came to an end. And you - you have so much life, it burns like a flame. Like a beacon." There was the gentlest of touches against his lips, his breath warm against Lysandre's cheek as he drew away. "Is it any wonder I fell in love with you?"

A chill - of disappointment, lost opportunities - crawled down Lysandre's limbs. "I've loved you since the moment we met," he said hoarsely, and he leaned in to kiss Augustine fiercely again, uncaring of who or what he was since that moment. "Are you telling me that we wasted all these years?"

He shook his head - Lysandre could feel the flick of curls against his face. "No, I -" A sigh escaped his lips. "It's hard," he continued, and his voice cracked. "So hard, knowing that - if I was to let myself love you, if I let you in to my heart, then you would one day die and I would carry the grief forever. Lysandre, my life is long. If we were to be together - it would take an act of magnificent selfishness, I can't do that to you -"

"Do what?" he said steadily, pressing their foreheads together. "Because I'm willing to do a great deal of things right now."

There was another soft sigh, Augustine catching Lysandre's free hand in both of his own, bringing it to his lips again. "I would share my life with you," he said quietly. "You would never die. AZ did that to himself unintentionally and he _has_ been a good companion for these lives, but - I can't do that to you. Not deliberately. Lysandre, even my life ends. You know the stories about what would happen when it does, how I would sleep for a thousand years -"

"As a tree," Lysandre managed wryly. "I suppose that explains why you used the name Sycamore."

At least he had successfully startled a laugh out of Augustine, and Lysandre felt a smile flicker over his lips. "It was a comfortable name," he explained mareepishly, then sighed. "But the point still stands. I could grant you my gift of life and you would never die, and then - I would not be opposed to being with you. But then I would sleep for a very long time, and -"

"And I would wait."

The words had escaped his lips before he could realise that they were true, that he would wait as long as it took. And in a thousand years, if Augustine awakened again and there was no more love in his eyes, if his feelings had changed... then he still had this most precious gift.

And yet... and yet. Things would change in a thousand years. The world could crumble and fall and he would find no reprieve in death, no solace in the end of his life. He would take his worst fears, of seeing the world become tainted and ugly, and he would have no escape for it.

Pressing his forehead against Augustine's again, he sighed softly. "And the other option is that I slowly bleed out, or die of thirst or shock, some time in the next few hours or days," he continued on, and even as he spoke he could feel the weakness of his body spreading like a virus. "But I would do so with the knowledge that my life would have a definite end, and that I would not see the world collapse into ruin. If I was to make a decision - it has to be now, doesn't it?"

Augustine nodded gently against him.

"You should rest," he said, and his voice trembled. "This isn't a decision to be made lightly."

Life or death. That was what it came down to - life, forever, or death. Forever.

And even the span of a thousand years would, in time, be nothing. He could see empires rise and fall, awaken in a world utterly unlike the last - he knew that the world a thousand years earlier was nothing like the world now, and could barely comprehend waking in such a radically different time. And he would be the constant, the one who saw all these changes, waiting for Augustine, always waiting - seeing the world collapse and rise and collapse again around him, but perhaps - perhaps - with a chance to change the world, to shape it for the better, one way or another.

Augustine's gift could unleash a monster upon the world.

Or it could unleash the start of something new.

He reached out, wound his fingers into Augustine's hair, kissed him again to shift his thoughts from death and pain and claustrophobia, as if he was the last remaining man on Earth, kept his eyes wide, so wide in the darkness as if he could seek him out, find some shape in the black. He found that he was weeping a little, tears marking out patterns in the dust on his skin, sinking in to his hair and beard, and clung to him closer.

Life, forever. Or death, forever.

"What do I do?" he whispered into Augustine's skin, his eyes still open so wide. "If I choose life, would I ever be able to... reverse the decision?"

There was a soft, cold silence. "Yveltal might," he admitted softly. "If I asked. I don't know. I don't - I don't know."

"Yveltal... probably does not like me much," Lysandre said delicately. "And at any rate, the girl caught it. I don't know what would happen if we were to meet again." And then he paused, for a thought had occurred to him. "Er. Does this mean I've been kissing a Pokemon?"

Augustine managed another laugh, stealing another quick kiss. "It's... not as simple than that," he admitted. "Were you kissing a Pokemon, were you kissing a tree, were you kissing a human being? I've appeared in such a way before, yes, but I've also appeared to you the way I am now, and neither of them represent the truth of what I am. A human and a Pokemon and a tree - they're all beings made of matter. They are conceived, they develop as an embryo, they are born. They live out their lives consuming and metabolising nutrients. They die, and their bodies decompose to help feed new life. I don't do any of those."

"You eat," Lysandre pointed out slightly incredulously, "We've had lunch enough times for me to know that."

"I _can_ eat," he agreed, "I just don't _have_ to. And anyway, the food you cook is delicious." There was a tentative smile in his face, his lips curving against Lysandre's cheek. "But I don't need it to survive. I was created out of star dust and the breath of life - all I need to live is the existence of living beings."

"Would you have died, then? If I had succeeded?"

Augustine's reluctant silence was all the answer he needed, and Lysandre kissed him again desperately, feeling the universe in his lips, the weight of millennia in his hands, tasted the breath of life.

"Then," he said quietly, "I'm glad I failed. The world would be a much more dismal place without you." His hand curled into Augustine's hair. "Without Xerneas and without Professor Augustine Sycamore. Can you ever forgive me?"

The backs of his fingers brushed Lysandre's cheek. "Haven't you realised that I already have?" he said sadly, and Lysandre's breath caught in his throat, a sob threatening to rise, squeezing his eyes shut against the misery.

"Why me?" he whispered, forcing the words out past his reluctant lips. "There are so many wonderful people full of life in the world, I can acknowledge that now. Why would you even bother with someone as broken as me?"

"I don't know," he admitted, and Lysandre could feel his heart stutter in his chest. "I could ask you the same question, why you would care for for me. I love you because there's a fire in you that you don't even seen to realise - there's passion within you to actually change things, to make things better. You've allowed yourself to become consumed by the negative, but Lysandre, you could be so good. You could be a champion for life, not for death."

Life, forever. Or death, forever. But Augustine trusted him, believed in him, and...

"Then I choose life," he whispered. "I accept your gift."

And his Holo Caster beeped.

There was an almost incredulous silence before Lysandre dug for it in his pocket, finding it dented but still functioning. The light from its screen was almost blinding, and indeed, he did have to squeeze his eyes shut against it - but then he could see again, and he could both work out their surroundings (in a pocket of air, a thick sheet of plate metal wedged above their heads and creating the space they moved in, but still partially buried, still surrounded by tons of rubble) and see that he had just got reception.

He licked his suddenly dry lips, and whispered, "Okay - who do we call?"

Emergency rescue services? But no, he had just very publicly declared that he was destroying the world, and that did not seem like the most intelligent idea. Yet time was running out - the discovery seemed to have galvanised him, given him a third option - to live a mortal life and to try to pay penance for what he had attempted to do.

And the only downside would be breaking Augustine's heart when he died.

"I have an idea," Augustine murmured, taking the Holo Caster from him and starting to key in a message. Lysandre found himself watching him, drinking in the sight of dark curls and silver grey eyes, bruises and blood and dust unable to hide the luminance of his skin.

Star dust and the breath of life. Augustine was beautiful, a being without comparison, and he had just offered to share his life with him.

He closed his eyes. "Who are you contacting?" he asked drowsily as the light faded and Augustine handed the Holo Caster back.

"The only one who would be willing to help," Augustine admitted. "AZ. He wouldn't judge you, how could he? But - he said he's already here, moving the rubble - that's why your reception came out. He'll have us out soon." Back in the darkness, he exhaled, curling an arm around Lysandre's shoulders. "Just hold on. He'll have you out. You may well survive this."

Lysandre let out a wordless murmur, curling as best he could against Augustine, seeking the tempting body heat. "I would still accept it," he whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth clumsily. "Your gift. I would be honoured."

"I know." But there was a tremor in his voice, an uncertainty, a question that still had not been sufficiently answered. "I know."

"Augustine?"

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're with me," Lysandre said quietly, and let his eyes fall shut again.

 

There was movement, pain, and there was sunlight on his face. And then there were sirens, being jostled, being held in place, and then black, endless quiet black, and Lysandre felt himself adrift, with nothing left to cling to, no sight of a distant shoreline to guide his feet back to solid ground.

And then there was beeping, soft and insistent, and the tang of antiseptic.

Lysandre opened his eyes to find himself in a bed, in pain, and with his mouth as dry as dust. There was a nurse fussing over him, giving him a tight smile as she checked his details; he carefully rasped out a request for water and found a glass pressed into his hand, the bed tilted upwards so he could drink.

With the water, he could take stock of his situation better. He was clearly in a hospital, still hooked up to a monitor and with an IV full of saline running into his arm. Burns and bruises were mottled against his skin, the arm that had been trapped earlier bandaged up, his crushed leg swaddled in thick bandages beneath the sheet, he could feel bandages crushing his hair and binding his shoulder in place. He felt terribly cold and terribly alone, for Augustine was nowhere in sight.

But his Holo Caster was on the table beside him, at least. Stretching out his good arm carefully, he grasped it, hesitating as he powered it up, running his fingers over the dents, noting absently that he had been unconscious for over a day now.

Augustine had contacted AZ, and so his number should have been the first one up. It wasn't, and neither was there any indication that a message had been sent, and Lysandre felt his brow furrow as he peered at it.

Exhaling, he slowly punched in a message for Augustine - "Where are you?" - and sent it on. And then he closed his eyes and waited.

 

"It's good to see you're awake, mon ami!"

Lysandre twisted around in the bed, turning to gaze up at Augustine as he entered the room - all smiles, holding a bouquet of flowers from the hospital store. His fingertips were bandaged; otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"Are you alright?" Lysandre asked, his voice low, and Augustine paused in the process of setting the flowers in a vase.

"Of course," he said lightly, "Why wouldn't be? The bigger question is if _you_ are alright!"

Xerneas could heal, couldn't he? Lysandre nodded in numb understanding as Augustine pulled a chair up, crossing his long legs at the ankles. "I'll live," he said dryly, "Thanks to you."

A fleeting smile crossed Augustine's lips, and then his expression became serious. "Do you... remember that, then?" he asked cautiously, "About how that very tall man and I, and our Pokemon, helped dig you out of the rubble? Or did the doctors tell you?"

For another long moment, Lysandre processed Augustine's words, staring at him in perplexity. "No, I mean - you said you ensured that I survived the weapon blast and the collapse. When we were trapped."

Augustine's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "I was never trapped, mon ami," he said slowly. "I didn't get to Geosenge until after..." Gesturing helplessly, he shook his head. "Until after the weapon went off. I met the very tall man there, and we worked together to get you out. Don't you remember?"

Lysandre's gaze dropped to his hands, feeling something heavy settle in his chest, his breathing quickening just a little, and he shook his head. "You - were there," he said hoarsely, "At the very end. You tried to convince me to leave and - I refused, so you stayed with me. We were buried alive together, you - you said you had protected me from death, you..." Lysandre exhaled, it came out as a shudder. "You said you were Xerneas. And you offered me eternal life. And -"

And he had kissed him, and he had admitted that he had loved him. But Augustine now acted as a friend would and only a friend, and it hurt, it hurt more than he could articulate, his good hand curling around the blanket.

"That's..." Augustine started, and Lysandre glanced up to find surprise and sympathy on his face. "I'm not sure what to say," he admitted, uncrossing and recrossing his ankles. "But you had lost a lot of blood when we got you out, and you had - well, head injuries. It was a hallucination, Lysandre. Nothing more. It wasn't real."

A hallucination.

His pulse thundering in his ears, his good hand tightened into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm.

It had been a hallucination.

None of it had been real. Not the kisses, not the confessions, not the closeness. Augustine was still the same mortal human man he always had been, he had not been secretly pining for Lysandre for all these years but unable to act, he was not made of star dust and the breath of life but flesh and blood like everyone else. He was not Xerneas, and he did not love Lysandre, and it hurt, it hurt almost more than than being buried alive.

"A... hallucination," he repeated, staring sightlessly at the blanket. "But - it felt so real."

"Hallucinations are supposed to," Augustine said with a sympathetic smile, setting one hand gently on his curled fist. "I'm sorry. It sounded like it was an interesting one, though - did you really imagine me saying I was Xerneas?"

He could feel humiliation burning his cheeks. Suddenly, he was incredibly glad he had not admitted to the part of his - hallucination - where Augustine had confessed his love, had not confessed to all the kisses they had shared while down there. Only he would be pathetic enough to imagine the secret object of his affections falling into his arms.

"Ah!" Augustine exclaimed, and he pulled his hand back. "Lysandre, you have visitors!"

He turned his head, blinking blearily and his gaze focusing on three figures at the door - two girls and one boy, the Professor's students. The ones who had stopped him from doing something unforgivable, now shifting awkwardly.

One of them was holding a modest bunch of flowers, cheerful yellow and orange gerberas, and she held them out with a tentative smile. The girl who had mocked the machine, he recalled vaguely, the one who had tried to convince him that his Gyarados' friendship had meant something significant.

"Thank you," he said numbly, but the thought had settled in his head now, and he turned to Augustine. "Where are my Pokemon?"

"They're fine," Augustine said quickly, "They weren't hurt. They're waiting for you in a safe PC box."

He deflated a little from sheer relief, nodding once. Augustine must have - no. Augustine had done nothing, it had been sheer luck that they had all survived. "Good."

The silence settled awkwardly in the room.

"Um," said the girl who had stopped him - Serena, he recalled vaguely. "Sorry - this is kind of awkward. Uh, you're not going to try to destroy the world again, are you?"

He managed a faint, wry smile. "No. I -" _Augustine helped me see otherwise._ "I realised that there are better ways to change the world."

"That's good!" the girl who had brought the flowers piped up. "We can share this world, right? And we can make it better for good!"

Settling back against the pillows, he nodded slowly.

Optimism and hope. If he was to survive in this world, he would need it.

The children did not stay long, and mostly spoke to Augustine at any rate - only the girl with the flowers (Shauna, her name was Shauna) really made any attempt to talk to him. It was only at the end that his attention returned to them - Augustine had asked Serena carefully if she still had Yveltal in her possession, and she had nodded sombrely.

"It would be best to release it," Augustine had sighed. "A Pokemon like that - it's not really meant for a human to have that much power. Would you be able to do that?"

"I can," Serena said quietly. "I don't want it."

Lysandre bit down on his lip once. "I would like to come with you when you do," he said abruptly, and four pairs of eyes swivelled towards him. He managed a small, self-deprecating smile, and shook his head. "I believe I owe it an apology."

Augustine nodded slowly, resting his hand lightly on Lysandre's arm for half a second. "Very well!" he said with forced cheer. "On that note, I would like to come as well. It isn't every day you get to see an actual legendary, no?"

And there was no second meaning in Augustine's eyes, no acknowledgement of what it would mean to face Yveltal. There was none of the recognition he would expect from Xerneas, and this, more than anything else, was what convinced him that it was a dream and nothing more.

The children departed, and eventually so did Augustine, albeit with a promise that he would see him tomorrow. Lysandre gazed blankly at the wall and nodded once, and found himself alone once more.

Alone, and with only the demons in his head for company.

 

Manoeuvring over uneven terrain on crutches was not easy.

It had taken a few weeks for Lysandre's health to improve to the point that he could leave the hospital, and he still was definitely not fully healed. They had saved his leg, at least - but the chance of permanent pain was high, part of the bone damaged beyond repair, and there was every chance that he would be using crutches or a cane for a long time.

The legal aspect - that had been even more of a concern. The police had been all in favour for locking him up and throwing away the key; instead, Augustine and the children had managed to convince him that a long stretch of community service and some mandatory counselling would probably serve everyone better in the long run. And he was grateful, so incredibly grateful to them all, but there was still the part of him that had expected a more brutal punishment.

His Pokemon had been returned to him. He had not yet seen his Gyarados, given that they generally did not fit into a hospital room, but the other three seemed to be fine, hale and hearty and full of life. This, too, was something he would be unendingly grateful for, for his closest companions to survive.

Serena was to release Yveltal on that day. This, too, was something to be grateful for, despite the faint tinge of terror he felt whenever he considered the prospect of facing the great beast again.

The place they had chosen was, at least, relatively barren - Augustine had done his research and had found a true desert for them to release the Destruction Pokemon in, far from habitation and far from areas of rich biodiversity. On a blasted plain, Serena took a steadying breath and held the Pokeball aloft - there was a flash of light, and wave of malice, and the sight of Yveltal unfurling in the air, peering down at them with blank blue eyes.

Its gaze focused on Serena, the girl trembling as she held the ball in her hand.

 _You will release me from that contraption,_ it said in their heads, and besides Lysandre, Augustine winced a little. Serena was nodding furiously, taking another step forward.

"That was what we were going to do!" she called out, "You're - I'm sorry you were trapped in there for so long - but I'm releasing you now!" And she dropped the Pokeball, crushing it under her foot, smiling tentatively.

The malice in the air faded a little. _Good,_ it said simply, and turned its gaze on Lysandre. _And what do you have to say, bringer of death?_

Lysandre felt his mouth grow dry. "I'm sorry," he said softly, and met its gaze. "I'm sorry! I was wrong, I know that now - I'm sorry."

Yveltal stared him down, then inclined his head once. _Good. Let me take your life, and I will consider your debt to be paid._

And Lysandre's pulse began to race, his mouth growing dry. He had not entirely unanticipated this, but the request - for Yveltal to take his life - still struck hard, his hands shaking as he stared up at it.

He would not have to see the world collapse into ruin, he would not have to face the consequences of his actions, and all he had to do would be to step forward, to embrace the chance and opportunity, to accept the death that he had faced in Geosenge and had managed to evade.

"No," Augustine said softly, and slipped his hand into Lysandre's. "I am very sorry, mon vieil ami. But he is under my protection."

Yveltal's wings fluttered in irritation, its blue eyes flashing, but Lysandre saw little of this. Instead, he gazed at Augustine, clinging to his hand as if it was the only thing that was holding him upright, watching those grey eyes alive with life and the pupils slit into crosses, overwhelmed at the subtle power rolling off him.

It had not been a hallucination. It had not been a hallucination, at all.

 _I cannot have him?_ Yveltal asked almost petulantly. _Is this one of your conditions, then?_

Augustine nodded once. "If he ever does choose to go to you, it will be both our decision," he said, voice as clear as a bell. "For now, I will not let you touch him."

Yveltal almost chuckled, and Lysandre felt his blood run cold at the horror of that noise. _As you wish,_ it said, and flapped its immense wings once, rising further into the air. _But I do recommend that you explain to the young ones, mon ami. Lying does not suit you._ It turned to face all of them, peering down at them each in turn. _Farewell, children. Farewell, bringer of death. Farewell, Xerneas, we will meet again._

Augustine raised a hand in parting, and Yveltal soared into the air, the wind picking up in a rush, and it vanished once more.

They were, Lysandre was vaguely cognisant of, being stared at.

Chuckling awkwardly, Augustine released Lysandre's hand, turning to face the children. "Er," he said, holding his hands out placatingly. "I'm sure you have questions -"

"You're _Xerneas_?" Serena blurted out disbelievingly, "How? You're a human! Does this mean you're actually a Pokemon? Yveltal is your friend? I thought it was trying to destroy everything, does that mean you are too?"

Raising his hands, he smiled at them reassuringly. "Why don't you go back to the car?" he told them soothingly. "I'll explain on the drive home. I'd like to have a word in private with Lysandre first, if that's alright."

"Oh - right," Serena mumbled. "Okay. Um... let's go, guys."

They moved off, leaving just Lysandre and Augustine alone in the field, and the smile dropped from Augustine's face as he lowered his hands. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It wasn't a hallucination, then," Lysandre managed dryly, shaking his head. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I thought it would be for the best," he admitted. "You were unconscious when AZ got us out, and badly injured, but you would have survived. And - I thought you would have a happier life without this knowledge hanging over your head - the chance to be normal, to live out your life as any human would. And that meant I had to deny everything that happened."

He nodded slowly, unhappy but accepting his words. "And today?"

Augustine shook his head, a tinge of frustration on his face. "I had a feeling that Yveltal would try this as soon as you said you wanted to see it - that's why I said I would go with you. I couldn't let it claim you just like that."

"And so you claimed me instead," he mused quietly, reaching for one of Augustine's hands, lacing their fingers together. "You gave it a loophole, though - if I accept your gift, you gave me a way out."

Nodding once, Augustine let out a soft sigh. "Eternity is a very long time," he admitted. "I wouldn't blame you if you chose a way out - if you still accept it."

"I do," Lysandre breathed, and tilted Augustine's chin up with his other hand, gazing into grey eyes that had become suddenly alert, human again but no less bright for it. "Then, if all that was real..."

"Then this is real too." And Augustine's eyes slipped close as he rose up on his toes to press his lips against Lysandre's mouth, lingering for just a moment before dropping away lightly.

"Good," Lysandre said simply, and kissed him again with the desperate hunger of several weeks and years before that, pulling him flush against his body, grinning giddily into the kiss as Augustine returned it in kind, arms wrapped around Lysandre's shoulders and one hand clinging to the back of his coat.

They were both breathing hard when they finally drew away, a smile hovering on Augustine's kiss-flushed lips, his expression achingly joyful and tentatively hopeful. "Let's go," he said simply, and took Lysandre's hand. "There's a lot for us to talk about..."

Lysandre squeezed the hand in his, and he smiled.


	2. The silly omake ending

_Some time later_

Pulling himself off Augustine's body with an exhalation of relief, Lysandre let himself collapse back against the sheets with a satisfied smile on his face.

Sighing contentedly, he turned to face Augustine, finding him bonelessly content, his skin gleaming, and grinning back at him tentatively, reaching out to trail his fingertips down Lysandre's cheek. "How was that?" he asked softly, tangling their legs together deliberately.

"I certainly don't have any complaints," Lysandre murmured, turning his head to kiss Augustine's palm. "That was... incredible. I don't think many people realise what it's like to sleep with a literal force of nature, really."

Augustine chuckled, paused, and erupted into full-blown laughter as his gaze shifted, and Lysandre propped himself up on one elbow. "What is it?" he said with a faint frown.

Gesturing wordlessly into the corner of the room, Augustine covered his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Lysandre turned to find his philodendron, which had been looking rather worse the wear in recent months, green and glossy and at _least_ a foot taller than it had been before they had gone to bed. "I'm, um," Augustine managed, giggling helplessly, "I think... we might have done that."

"What," Lysandre managed, then swung his legs out of bed, wrapping the sheet around himself (Augustine yelped and curled up into a ball against the cold, giving him a put-out look) and padding barefoot out of the bedroom.

He looked into the living room blankly, then turned back and stared at Augustine. "Augustine Sycamore, what did you do to my house plants?" he said in a mock growl, and Augustine raised his hands defensively.

"I can't help it!" he laughed, "I'm so sorry."

"The maidenhair fern has grown over the television," he explained dryly, "The flowers in the planter outside are covering half the window. I dread to think what will happen next time." With a grin, he returned to the bed, draping the sheets over both of them and kissing Augustine's throat. "Aren't you supposed to be able to create forests?"

"Well, yes, but generally not inside people's apartments!"

Lysandre chuckled, kissing him breathless again, halting Augustine's own laughter in its tracks. "We should go into the gardening business," he mused in an almost perfect deadpan. "We can promise to revitalise people's struggling gardens, wait until they leave, and..." He gestured vaguely, and Augustine pressed a hand against his mouth, fighting more laughter.

"Oh no, stop," he giggled breathlessly, "That's not how it's supposed to work -"

"I don't know, it sounds like a sound business plan to me," Lysandre mused, and kissed him again, fighting his own laughter, completely and utterly content, smiling against Augustine's lips as talented fingers wound through his hair and his body arched against his own.

If this was how eternity began, then he could not wait to see what else it would bring.


End file.
